Trains on train tracks
by bloodyelectro
Summary: It s Thursday and Quinn s taking the train home... Accompanying piece to Monday Mornigs. One-shot, future, etc.


**A/N:** Accompanying piece to Monday Mornings (a big thanks to all of you who read and commented that story!), this time from Quinn´s perspective. Also thanks to everyone who read/commented on Coffee-and-Cookies, I´ll try my best to come up with a new chapter/part soon.:)

Comments are love, so don´t forget to leave some. :)

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><p><strong>Trains on train tracks<strong>

You hate taking the train.

Have for as long as you can remember.

It´s Thursday evening and you're standing on platform one, waiting for the train that will take you home. Just two more minutes in the freezing cold this November day tortures you with.

It´s seven and already dark outside; only artificial lights illuminating the world at this time. You can´t remember whether or not you saw the sun today.

You rub your eyes, the day has been long and you´re tired.

The train ride home takes thirty five minutes and you hate it.

You hide your face in your scarf. It´s gotten even colder in the course of the week and you wish winter wouldn´t come this fast. You try to remember whether Santana had been wearing a scarf. She had been constantly sneezing on the way to the train station that morning and you really hope she hasn´t caught her first cold of the season.

It´s Thursday but you wish it was Friday already.

Rumbling loudly the train enters the station. You get on quickly happy to be out of the cold.

You loosen your scarf and pull off your gloves. Hopefully the next thirty five minutes will go by quickly.

* * *

><p>Santana gets on a stop later. She looks tired, but smiles when she sees that you saved her a seat. Maybe she even smiles because of you, you can never tell, but you always hope.<p>

She drops down in the seat next to you and leans over to give you a quick kiss. Her lips are cold and she tastes like all she had today was coffee. To your relief she´s wearing your scarf.

She places her head on your shoulder while your hand finds her jean-clad thigh. With her hat out of the way you kiss her forehead and she sighs contently, her hands wrapping tightly around your arm. Her hair smells like raspberries which means she´s used your shampoo, but you don´t mind. You´ve stopped minding long ago.

She doesn´t ask you how your day has been, it´s just not who she is, but she tells you quietly that she´s fixed your laptop the night before, then yawns and tells you not to download lesbian porn anymore and you laugh.

Santana sighs satisfied; she loves when you laugh about her jokes. Not even a minute later she´s half-asleep.

You´re unconsciously humming the melody of your favorite song of the week and your girlfriend leans further into you. The old lady across from you looks up from her Sudoku and smiles at you. You know from experience that your girlfriend is a lot less intimidating when she´s asleep.

Misses Davis, the lady you sometime talk too and who Santana always ignores, reminds you of the landlady who had rent you the apartment on Corsica that summer when it all started between you and Santana so many years ago.

You can´t believe it´s been so long.

The doors open and a whiff of fresh air sweeps through the coach. Someone´s music is up really loud. A young girl at the other end of the car talks loudly into her phone, you wish she´d speak more quietly.

Close to the door stands a guy who´s watching you and Santana, he looks away when you meet his eyes.

You tighten your hold on her and you´re glad you get to call her yours.

One day you´ll make it official, put a ring on her finger, and make her take your name, though that will probably be a bit of a fight. You want to spend your life with her, want to take the train with her every day of the week for the rest of your life.

Santana quietly complains when you sigh heavily, her head moving with your shoulder.

* * *

><p>The air in the car is stuffy and warm, the seats sticky as usual.<p>

You run your fingers through her hair, knowing how much she likes it still.

Red nosed, her forehead burning, snoring quietly in her doze.

You know she´s getting sick.

With your finger you write _I love you_ on her thigh.

You grin when she whispers _you, too_ in your ear, meaning it even half asleep.

You´re so in love with her.

Even on the train after long Thursdays.

* * *

><p>You text Rachel and cancel dinner on Saturday. Santana certainly won´t mind and you might as well grab lunch with her next week.<p>

It´s quarter past seven.

You´ll have to work some more on an article when you get home and Santana will probably fall asleep on the couch again.

As long as she´s there when you leave work you don´t mind the long hours as much. She balances you, makes it all bearable. With her even the days you only have enough energy left to go home and fall into bed are good days, because she´s by your side.

She´s the reason you wear your Sunday smile on Wednesdays and Thursdays, when it´s raining or snowing, early in the morning and late at night. And only she can make you smile on the long train rides you hate so much.

The constant movement is making you even more tired; still five stops to go. You close your eyes and lean your head against Santana´s, you can´t wait to go to bed tonight, to fall asleep half on top of her, wrapped in a warm and soft bubble of happiness.

* * *

><p>The world around you is slowing down, sounds softening, day turning into night. The city´s rushing by, lights turning on, people getting home, dinners being prepared. You decide to get some Chinese on the way from the train station. Santana doesn´t look like she´s in the mood to cook tonight and honestly neither are you.<p>

You feel her jerk awake, she whispers something dirty in your ear, leaving no questions about what she´s been dreaming about. You kiss her wishing you´d be more awake and home already.

The next stop is yours.

You adjust the hat on her head and give her a fleeting kiss. She smiles lazily and winks at you before she gets up.

Her hand is hovering over the door opener as you put on your gloves.

The train´s still rolling when the doors open and she hops out.

You follow her out of the car and onto the platform. The air has gotten even colder. As the train leaves the station Santana intertwines your fingers, squeezing softly.

You don´t like Thursday evenings, the long train ride, but you love Santana.

And when you walk home your hand in hers these thirty five minutes are quickly forgotten.


End file.
